Gator's
by SciFiRN
Summary: Dean stops for something to eat. Nothing is ever that simple for any of the Winchesters though is it?
1. Hickory, Dickory, Dock

**Note: **_Because sometimes your friends make you write out that story you told years ago. Hopefully it's as good this time around as it was then..._

**Gator's**

Dean stared blankly out the window as the rain fell steadily, making a mess of the already muddied parking lot. A blinking neon sign beside the road named the place Gator's and Dean watched as the colored lights reflected off the midnight paint of the Impala, which he just now noticed was the only car in the lot. He sipped at his coffee, stronger than he really liked it, but he wasn't going to complain too much, since he desperately needed the caffeine.

Another two hours on the road and he'd be there, though he wasn't looking forward to it. He didn't really want to finish this drive. Dean wiped a weary hand over his face and leaned his head back on the sticky vinyl of the booth. Bone tired, exhausted, whatever you chose to call it, that's how he felt. It wasn't about him, though, and he knew it.

Dean yawned and caught his mind starting to slide into sleep. He jerked himself awake, sloshing his, now warm, coffee over the table and onto his jeans. "Dammit." Dean grabbed a handful of napkins and blotted at the wetness on his thigh.

A low chuckle beside the table brought his eyes up from his lap. The waitress stood beside him, her hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, which probably lessened the lines on her late middle-aged face, but not by much.

Dean gave her a smirk and shrugged as he gestured out the window, "Don't know why I'm bothering. It's not like I'm going to stay dry, huh?"

The waitress, Beth according to her nametag, set a plate of food on the table in front of him. "No, not tonight," Beth looked sadly out the window, "I hate nights like these." She shivered and then her smile slid back into place. "Terrible night to be travelling."

Dean glanced outside and then back, nodding, "Yeah, it really is." Dean looked up at the clock above the counter in front of the kitchen and frowned, knowing it wasn't even close to five, AM or PM. He motioned to it, "You know what time it really is?" Dean asked as he upended the ketchup bottle over his fries.

Beth glanced at the clock and smiled, "That thing's been broken for years. For the life of me, I don't know why ole Carl just doesn't replace it." She shook her head, "He seems to think that since it's part of the original diner it's gotta stay." Beth raised her hand and waved it around the empty diner, "Honestly, not much worth holding onto around here. This place's seen better days."

Dean stabbed a couple of fries into the mound of ketchup and folded them into his mouth as he glanced around. The diner looked almost identical to the last half dozen all night dives he'd eaten in recently. Grease coating every flat surface, so thick it was like another layer of wax on the floor. Torn vinyl booths, scratched plastic tabletops and plastic coated menus rounded out the look. Hell, even the waitresses had that used up look about them. Dean nodded, and picked up the club sandwich Beth had recommended over the burger. "So, you have the time?"

Beth laughed, "Oh, sure honey." She pulled an old pocket watch from the beneath her apron and pressed the small button that released the top. "Well, it's later than I figured." She clicked the watch closed, "I've only got a couple more hours till my shift's over and I can't tell you how happy that makes me." She turned to go and then paused, "I almost forgot your soda." She reached out and put her hand on Dean's shoulder, "I'll be right back with it."

Dean watched her move toward the kitchen and raised the sandwich to his mouth, "Still don't know the freaking time…" he mumbled under his breath just before he took a bite of the sandwich and almost moaned in appreciation. The bacon was perfect.

Beth returned to his table with a coke in one hand and a small plate in the other. She set the glass down and then slid the plate across the table. "Sorry about forgetting your drink, honey. This here's the last piece of cherry pie of the day. Made it myself this morning, so I know it's good." She winked at him and then moved back to the kitchen.

Dean's eyes lit up as he smiled wide around a mouthful of bacon, turkey and ham, "'Ank you."

Beth waved her hand over her shoulder, "Just enjoy it."

Dean finished dinner, alternating between fries and sandwich. He pushed the plate to the end of the table and then pulled the cherry pie closer while he picked up his fork. Dean loaded his fork with cherry pie, the filling oozing out and falling back onto the plate and then he tasted it. This time Dean did moan. He heard Beth's chuckle as she suddenly appeared and refilled his coffee cup.

"Good isn't it?"

Dean nodded, savoring the taste. He swallowed and then took a sip of the coffee, still too strong. "Heavenly." Dean smiled up at the older woman and winked, "Best I've had in forever."

Beth blushed, "Aren't you too sweet."

"I'm not trying to be nice, seriously, best pie in…well, really it's very good." Dean lifted another bite to his mouth and nodded when the sweetly tart goodness exploded on his tongue. The crust so perfect it almost melted.

Beth smiled and wandered back to the kitchen.

Dean missed the nervous glance she shot at the clock above the counter.

Dean finished his pie and sat back, sipping at his coffee as he waited for his check. It had been several minutes since he'd seen Beth, or even heard anything from the kitchen. In fact, Dean suddenly realized it was eerily quiet. No sound other than the sound of him moving his cup across the table and moving against the orange vinyl beneath him.

A sudden chill shot down his spine and instinctively Dean reached for the Colt tucked in his jeans. He didn't pull the gun, but the weight of it against his hand was reassuring. The bell above the door jangled and Dean turned to look over his shoulder at the door and he watched as a group of people began to file into the diner.

A glance out the window and he noticed a bus in the pitted gravel of the parking lot. He turned back in his seat, hand returning to the table as he surveyed the counter. Several men and a couple had found seats along the counter and Beth was there chatting and taking orders. The small diner was now almost packed. Dean shook his head thankful that he'd beat the crowd.

Dean dropped a five on the table and smiled as he headed to the end of the counter, so he could pay and leave. He stood by the old cash register and looked down the counter, hoping to get Beth's attention. His eyes drifted to the clock above the counter and he saw the second hand moving. Dean narrowed his eyes. The clock read eleven thirty.

**Note:**

_When this story was first told it wasn't a Supernatural story...I adapted it. Honestly, it was a simply a story told over several days to a friend and her daughter who were in the hospital at the time, after a really bad car accident. I never wrote it down and it's been years since then, so hopefully it turns out like it should. Lacy, if you show up here you better review it...or else ;)_

Reviews are like chocolate.


	2. Who has Seen the Wind?

**Who has Seen the Wind?**

"What the hell…" Dean shook his head and looked around the diner again. He watched as people found their seats and began to talk, nothing unusual about any of it. He looked back toward Beth.

She smiled and waved at someone, while she held up a pot of coffee.

Dean moved back when another waitress swung around the end of the counter with a tray loaded down with food.

She almost knocked into him, before frowning and mumbling, "Sorry."

The cook called, "Order up" and Beth turned and laughed at something he said to her as she loaded a tray with plates. She headed toward the end of the counter where Dean stood and as she moved around it, she paused.

"You're still here?" Beth asked, confusion creeping across her face. "You shouldn't be here."

Dean shook his head, "I just needed my check." He held out a ten. "This should cover it."

Beth looked at him and shivered, "You don't understand. You can't be here. You shouldn't be here. It's wrong."

Dean was confused, "What do you mean I shouldn't be here?"

Someone in the back of the diner caller her and she began to move around Dean, "You have to let me go. I need to get back to work."

Dean moved back and let her pass.

She paused again as she slid by him, "Leave, now. You have to be gone before he gets here."

Confused and now a little angry, Dean reached for Beth's arm, "What the hell is that supposed to mean? Who?"

Dean's hand landed on Beth's forearm and a wave of trepidation rolled up his arm and down his spine. He gasped and dropped his hand.

Beth nodded, "Leave. Now."

Dean glanced around and cold dread slithered through him. Something more than the clock wasn't right. Dean dropped his ten on the counter and moved to the door instinct putting his gun in his hand just as the door swung open.

The wind blew rain and debris in through the door ahead of the two men dressed in denim and dripping leather jackets, silver buckles glimmering in the fluorescent lighting of the diner. They entered the diner, and forced the door shut behind them. Together they stepped forward. The one in front, slightly shorter than his companion but broader in the shoulder, stopped just in front of Dean and stared.

Dean straitened, but didn't back down. His hand curling around the handle of the gun he had slid into his pocket and he glared back at the man. "What?"

The second man laughed and shoved the shorter one on the shoulder, "Jack, I think someone might want to play." He spit onto the floor, "Been awhile…"

Jack gave Dean a wicked smile before moving past him to a booth in the back. He threw his arm around the taller man's shoulder, "You know what, Gabe, you're right. It's been a long damn time."

Dean watched Jack and Gabe slide into the booth. Keeping his eyes on the men, his hand still in his pocket, he moved toward the door again. Dean stopped; a soft touch against his face and a whisper in his ear.

_Help..._

A single word, but something so plaintive in that one word that it was almost heartbreaking. Dean's eyes swung through the diner. He didn't' see anything; no one else seemed to notice. Everything seemed as it should, yet everything seemed wrong. In his gut, he knew. Something was coming.

Dean caught Beth's eyes and he saw her fear, as well as her apology. He needed to know what was going on. He also wanted to go, needed to go, to be on his way. He was supposed to meet up with his father, they had a job lined up and people were depending on them.

Dean spun as an icy draft brushed past his cheek, his eyes wide in surprise, or was it panic. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and fear pooled in the pit of his stomach.

_We are too... _The voice whispered. _Help us…_

Dean noticed people were staring. He brisked his hands up his arms and went for the door. Less than a foot from the door, he reached forward to pull the door open. Another gust of wind forced the door open and Dean back into the diner.

The wind poured into the small restaurant with a loud rushing shriek. People screamed and huddled beneath their tables as the strength of the wind pelted the patrons closest to the door with cold, wet rain, leaves and even the smaller bits of gravel from the parking lot.

The force of the wind dropped Dean to the floor, rain and gravel hit his face, as the force of the wind stole his breath. Gasping, Dean turned his back to the door, still on his knees he covered his face with his hands as the wind spun through the diner like a tornado.

The wind, rain and debris suddenly coalesced in the center of the diner. A man appeared in the midst of the chaos his long hair and beard blowing around him, his long black coat billowing behind him. The wind began to die, pulling in and around the figure in front of Dean.

As the wind died, other sounds began to break through. Fearful crying and nervous words, whispers and once again in Dean's ear that small, cold, voice, _Help us..._

_**Reviews are always appreciated...**_


	3. Trunk and Bough

**Trunk and Bough**

Dean watched the man in the center of the diner straighten and survey the room. He watched him turn and glance at the booth where Jack and Gabe sat. He watched the man nod in acknowledgment before turning back to face the front of the diner.

The man rolled his head on his shoulders to a chorus of cracking sounds before fisting his hands fiercely and cracking his knuckles, fighter style. The man was tall, maybe a few inches taller than Dean and he was dressed completely in black from head to toe. He wore a heavy, black canvas duster over his dark clothes. He stroked his beard and cocked his head at Dean.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was deep, cold and it rang eerily through the quiet room. He stepped closer to Dean, heavy black boots stomping, crushing leaves and gravel as he moved. A scabbard hung down his back, a black handled Katana sheathed inside.

Dean pulled himself from the floor and cocked an eyebrow at the get-up. He snorted, "Please tell me you're not going to start spouting about there being only one."

Confusion crossed the man's face and Jack and Gabe's garbled laughter rang into the room.

Dean shot a quick nod at the two.

"You're not making any sense."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, "Look, I was just eating. Now, I just want to leave; only I'm pretty sure you're not going to let me. So, how about you tell me who you are, or better yet what you want."

The man drew himself up to his full height. "I am called many things, Imkullu, Alu-Sedu and Vejopatis. I want nothing other than what is owed me." The man laughed and the lights in the diner flickered.

Dean watched the light show and almost rolled his eyes. He caught himself, usually not a good thing to tick off the unknown entity. "Okay, so what exactly do you think is owed to you?"

Imkullu stared at the man before him. "You are insolent and you are a stranger to this place. I want what is rightfully mine and then I will go."

Dean sighed and tried to remember if any of the names the man used meant anything to him, but he was drawing a blank. Research had never been his strong suit and without knowing what the creature even was, he had no idea how to kill it. Dean glanced around at the other people. No one had attempted to leave the diner; they all sat quietly now that the wind had died down. A few of the women were crying and the two or three kids in the place looked down right terrified.

A flash of lightening illuminated the parking lot, a loud crash of thunder shook the glass in the windows and even some of the silverware rattled where it lay on the tables. A sudden pressure rose in the room and the voices whispered through the room again.

_Help us…please... _

Dean felt their presence almost more than he heard the voices. He flinched as a sharp sensation shot across the back of his neck. His breath caught in his throat when he felt a warm trickle of something run down his back. He slid a hand to his neck and his fingers came back bloodied.

"Son of a bitch." Dean spun around, but there wasn't anything behind him, he continued his spin until he was once again facing Imkullu. "You doing that?"

The bearded man furrowed his forehead and stared. "You ask a question, but I do not know what it is you ask."

Dean took a step forward and held out his hand, "This. Did.You. Do.This?"

Gabe and Jack repositioned themselves in their seats to get a better look.

Imkullu stared at Dean's hand with a sneer. "Again, what are you asking me?"

Dean held up his hand, palm to the man, "This. This. THIS!"

Dean dropped his hand and flipped it palm up in front of his face. There was no blood. He reached for the back of his neck and then looked at his palm. Again, no blood. "What the hell is going on?"

Imkulla waved a hand, as if to dismiss Dean, "You are annoying and you shouldn't be here." He bowed his head and held his hands out to his side as strange words poured from his lips. A thrumming sound built in the air and then faded. Imkulla looked up at Dean, "Leave."

Dean's jaw dropped. Leave? He glanced at Gabe and Jack, both of whom appeared to be holding their collective breath, waiting to see what he would do. Dean thought he really should leave. Dad had taught him a few things. First, know what you're hunting. Second, know your plan. Third, have a back-up plan. Well, Dean knew he was screwed on all three counts, but what the hell.

Dean smiled and shook his head, "No."

Imkulla's jaw clenched and his eyes clouded some with confusion, before changing to anger. "You defy me?"

Dean thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocked back on his heels and smiled. "Looks that way." He didn't miss the way Gabe and Jack relaxed back into their seats. Hell, Gabe even picked up his coffee cup and sipped before holding it up to Dean as if in salute.

Imkullu turned to the booth behind him. The one where Gabe and Jack sat. "This is your doing."

Jack shook his head, "Don't think so."

Gabe nodded, "Nope, you had an agreement. We're just here to make sure you abide by the rules." He motioned to Dean with his head, "His choice to stay or go." Gabe shrugged and then nudged at Jack's foot with his boot, "Told ya, didn't I."

Jack nodded and moved into the corner of the booth, his arm slung over the back of the bench seat. He caught Dean's eyes, "I just hope he at least puts on a good show before he loses."

Gabe chuckled and turned his head to watch.

"Hey, standing right here you know." Dean rolled his eyes. He was seriously screwed now. "You two wouldn't want to fill me in on any pertinent details would you?" Dean held his hands out to the side.

"No can do, amigo." Jack clucked his tongue, "Wish we could help, but sorry, we are completely hands off."

Dean stomped his foot childishly. "Great." Dean glowered around the room and stopped at the first person who met his eyes. A man, late twenties, early thirties with a wife and kid at his table. "How bout you? Care to share?"

The man's eyes swung to Imkullu, then to the two bikers in the back booth. "Uh, we're not supposed to talk about it."

The pressure rose in the room again. Small cries and the whispers rose around him. _Help…release us…please…please…_

Dean shook his head, trying to clear the begging from his ears. He looked around the room, "You all gonna say you don't hear that?"

Imkullu shifted his weight from foot to foot, a nervous look on his face. No one should hear them. They only spoke for him and to him as they begged to be released. He fisted a hand at his side and glanced around at the people gathered in the restaurant. He sighed in uneasy relief when he saw the confusion on the faces.

"You speak in riddles." Imkullu spat out as he walked toward the young man.

Dean's bark of laughter startled a few people, "Me? Yeah, because a guy stopping at a diner for a sandwich is such a puzzle." Dean motioned to the man and moved counter to him, keeping their distance constant. "But, the freaky guy in black that arrives with the wind on a stormy night, that's totally normal."

Something about what he said made Dean pause. A man in black arriving with a storm, hell, where had he heard that before. Dean tried to remember, but the memory was too slippery and he couldn't hold on to it. He raised his eyes to Imkullu, "So how we gonna do this Sparky?"

Imkullu threw his head back in a roar, "Enough." He spun toward the counter, his duster swelling behind him before settling back against his legs. He held out a hand and motioned.

A man scurried out of the kitchen, greasy apron hanging around his thick neck. A ball cap covering his overly large head. He swallowed thickly and paled. He ducked his head and the looked nervously up at the taller Imkullu. "What is it you require?" His voice wavered and sweat poured down his face.

Imkullu cocked his head and tapped a finger thoughtfully against his lip. He turned to the man Dean had spoken to and then his gaze shifted to the small boy huddled in his mothers lap. "A child."

A collective gasp filled the diner. Dean's eyes skipped from face to face and he took in the relief on most faces and the terror on the faces of the few parents in the room.

The woman with the boy in her lap was rocking him in her arms and sobbing hysterically.

Dean stepped between Imkullu and the woman. He cocked his head to the side. "You want what?"

Imkullu rolled his eyes, "A child, it is my due. Now, you have no business here." Imkullu waved his hand, as if waving a gnat away.

Dean suddenly found himself flying through the air. One thought in his head: _This is so not good. _

He landed behind the counter, head slamming into the small cooler. His vision swam to black for a few seconds and bile pressed up into the back of his throat.

He sat on the floor breathing deep, swallowing the sour taste in his throat as he gathered his thoughts. Not a ghost, poltergeist, or otherwise angered spirit, not a demon as far as he could tell, he was leaning toward demigod, but he had no clue which one.

Dean pushed himself up into a sitting position. He rested his head on the shelf behind him and stared at the ceiling as he waited for the spinning to stop. When the only thing moving above him was the lazy spinning of the ceiling fan, he gripped the counter and pulled himself upright.

Imkullu was watching the boy cry in the hysterical woman's arms. "Your son is what is owed me." His eyes tracked through the room, landing on each and every table, "You all agreed. The deal was made."

Dean leaned heavily against the wall behind him. The buzzing in his ears increasing and he realized it wasn't in his head. He closed his eyes and concentrated.

_Help us…please, he keeps us…holds us…they think we are gone…we are not…torture…evil…hate_

More than one voice, often overlapping and difficult to separate out. Dean whispered, "Why?"

_Flood…safe…storm…town…a-live_

There were impressions with the words, nothing concrete. Cold and dark and wet.

Dean opened his eyes and watched the woman rock the child while her husband tried to pull the boy from her arms. He bit his lip and clenched his hands. He wanted to pummel the man into the ground. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and focused. His lips moved as he breathed out, "Show me."

The buzzing in his ears grew loud, almost overwhelming and a bright light flashed behind his eyelids. Neither was painful, but both were intense. Scenes flashed before him.

_Storms, powerful crushing tornadoes destruction…town gathered here, an old church stood on the land then…no place safe. Surrounding towns obliterated, nothing left. Prayers, old prayers from an old priest. Blood offering; everyone over eighteen. A man, from the storm. A promise. A deal. A life each year a storm comes on the same date. A life of his choice. Imkullu, god of the tempest, destroyer, controller. Trapped souls, in the deep lakes, no peace, and constant fear._

Dean's eyes flew open as the screaming child and the woman's hysterics rose to epic levels. Three men now stood holding the woman as the child's father pried him from her arms.

Imkullu stood, arms open with a satisfied smile on his face. His greedy eyes on the terrible scene before him. He licked his lips revealing sharp, dagger like teeth. A shudder ran through Imkullu's wiry frame and an obscene string of saliva hung from his chin.

Dean tried to remember anything he knew about demigods, wind gods, storm gods…how did you kill one? Dean's eyes spun through the room. Iron, salt, wood, earth? Shit, he didn't know. Dean slapped his hand repeatedly on the back of his head, "Think, think, think…how do you stop wind?"

The boy's father finally freed him from his mother's grasp and he was struggling to pull the child's arms from his neck. The boy was gripping his father's hair, screaming and kicking and Dean loved the kid for it.

Dean looked outside, saw a flash of lightening, saw things being blown with the wind and he watched as the trees across the street simply swayed, bending, but not breaking. The wind howled louder and Dean smiled. He moved slowly to the door and managed to slip out with relative ease and he hoped unseen.

Dean ran to the side of the small diner as the wind whipped trash and leaves at him, almost as if he were a target. An old oak tree stood twenty feet from the diner and under it were four old gravestones. The markers listed year of death between 1828 and 1845. A huge smile spread across his face.

Oak trees were sacred. Thor the god of thunder was said to reside in ancient oak trees. The oak tree wasn't ancient, but it was older than Dean, older than the building and probably at least as old as the town. It was strong, it's branches thick and healthy, which was good, because Dean figured, he needed a living part of the tree. He was even more thrilled that there were graves beneath the tree. Graves meant consecrated ground.

Dean offered a small apology to the old tree and grabbed hold of a thick branch about a foot above his head. He held on and pulled his feet from the ground. The branch made a creaking noise, but didn't give. Dean pulled down, bouncing the branch over his head and jumped to jerk it down under his weight. "Please, please, break." The tree groaned in protest and then with a sudden loud crack the branch gave way, tumbling Dean to his ass.

Branch in hand, Dean stood. He pulled his knife from his boot and passed it over the broken tip of the branch, sharpening it into a rough point as he turned back to the diner, but the wind was suddenly against him. It pressed him backward, slamming him into the trunk of the tree.

"You son of a bitch." Dean ground out before the wind stole his breath, making it difficult to breathe. He turned his head to the side and lowered himself to a crouch. Half-crawling, half-walking he managed to make his way back to the diner.

He pulled at the door, it wouldn't move. Dean pulled, fighting with the door. He wasn't willing to let go of the handle as the wind tried to force him back from the diner. Tears were in Dean's eyes from the wind as well as the sight unfolding inside the diner.

Imkullu had the boy by the shoulder and he was pulling the Katana from the scabbard on his back.

"Shit, damn, son of a…" Dean ran through every curse word he knew in English and started on the ones he knew in Latin. He knew he had to do something and he needed to do it fast. He glanced around and then laughed when he remembered his gun.

Dean slid the Colt from his pocket and took one step back from the door. He slid the safety off, took aim and slowly squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit the glass, a clean hole. He pulled the trigger again and added another hole about an inch or so beside it. Then holding the gun by the barrel he swung it, hitting the glass between the two holes. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the side and the glass shattered outward as the wind pulled the air from inside the building.

Glass bit into Dean's face, opening up small cuts on the right side of his face and on his bare hands. He straitened and pulled the handle of the door and it opened with a scraping sound as glass was ground beneath it and into the pavement.

All motion paused inside the diner, the boy was sobbing, his mother was crying, but nothing moved. Imkullu stood, child in his right hand and sword over his shoulder readied to strike.

Dean pocketed the Colt and wiped rain and glass from his face. He spit on the floor as blood dripped into his mouth from the cuts spread across his forehead and cheek. He held the wrist sized oak branch in both hands and moved toward the storm god.

"Let. Him. GO." Dean's voice was tight, measured and full of intent. His cold eyes stared directly into Imkullu.

The god lowered the sword, but he didn't' release the boy. "You are brave. Stupid, but brave." He turned in Dean's direction and shook his head. "A branch? Is this a retelling of the Christian myth of David and Goliath?"

Dean snorted, "Not so good with the mythology are you. That was a slingshot and stones."

Imkullu dropped the boy to the floor, threw his head back with and laughed. "You may stand a better chance with the slingshot."

Dean eased forward, holding the branch by the sharp end, leaves quivering with the wind as it bellowed into the diner through the wrecked door. Dean smiled, still moving forward. "Don't think so. I'm pretty sure stones wouldn't stop you. No, and neither would bullets, iron, salt, water or earth."

Imkullu sobered and eyed the young man with the branch. He shot a glance to the bikers behind him, who were now moving to stand closer, but still not interfering. "He knows. It is impossible." Imkullu shook his head, "You told him." He pointed a finger to Jack and Gabe.

Gabe shook his head, "No, wasn't us. We only watch, enforce the rules and all that."

Imkullu shook with rage, "He isn't allowed to interfere. He must not interfere. Enforce the rule."

"Nope. That's not a rule for him." Jack motioned to Dean. "He wasn't part of the town, not part of the deal, so he doesn't have to abide by the rules." Jack smiled and crossed his arms.

Dean was slightly confused. He looked around the diner, saw for the first time, hope in the eyes of the people gathered there. "Look, he's been lying to you. The ones he takes are stuck, trapped in a purgatory that they don't deserve. They're suffering." Dean glared at the father who was now holding his son and sobbing on the floor, rocking the boy. "You've been letting him take you one by one. Never asking for help, never looking for a way out." Dean took a deep breath before he spat out, "You were giving him your children."

The buzzing built and Dean felt the brush of hands across his face and neck. He felt the clear sensation of someone leaning against his leg. He heard their voices, hopeful.

_Yes…a champion…safe…relief…laughter…_

"Can't you hear them? Listen. They've been begging me since I got here. Your families." Dean glared at Imkullu. "It's over."

Dean rushed the man who stood confused in the middle of the room. He watched Imkullu raise his hand, but it was too late. Dean ducked and spun coming up behind Imkullu. As he did he swung his hand behind him, branch in hand. The splintered side sliding easily through Imkullu's back and on through his chest.

Imkullu released a cry, lightening flashed and a deafening clap of thunder sounded. Wind tore through the room, destroying everything in it's path. People fell to the floor, cowering as anything not attached to something flew about. Glass, gravel, leaves and debris crashed through the diner and then with a sudden crash all the glass of the windows blew outward carrying Imkullu's cry out into the rain.

_**NOTE:**_

_Reviews just make me all warm and fuzzy...please leave one :)_

_Thanks to those of you who reviewed, they mean a lot. Lace, thanks for stopping by! _

_One chapter after this...more of an epilouge._


	4. Blood and Water

**Blood and Water**

Dean stood stunned as Imkullu disappeared, blowing away with the wind and his scream out into the night. He waited for his vision to clear and his ears to stop ringing. He shivered as whispers of touch rushed past him and out into the storm. Images and impressions of thankfulness flew through his mind.

_Thank you…at last we are free...we can rest…be at peace…_

Dean felt the wetness of tears run down his face as it mixed with his blood and fell to the floor. The mixture landed with a splash on the largest leaf of the branch that now lay on the floor beside his feet. Dean watched in amazement as the green of the leaves began to change starting with the leaves closest to the broken end that had penetrated Imkullu's chest.

Each leaf slowly faded from green to yellow and then to orange or red, every leaf transforming from summer to autumn before his eyes; all with the exception of one. The largest leaf on the branch, the one that had collected Dean's tears and Dean's blood stood out green against the oranges and yellows of the others.

Jack stepped forward; he bent and plucked the leaf from the branch. He lifted the leaf carefully, making sure the small drops of watered blood stayed cupped in the center of the leaf. He handed the thing to Gabe and then smiled.

"You risked your life for these people," Jack motioned around the diner, "Even though you don't know them, why?"

Dean furrowed his brow and glanced between Gabe and Jack. "He was going to kill the boy." Dean's voice held accusation, "Better question is why the hell didn't you do anything?" Dean fingered the side of his face, and picked a few pieces of glass out of his cheek with a wince. "You obviously know what's going on."

Gabe waved a hand and everyone in the diner froze. "We can't interfere with freewill. Had one of them tried, stood up to him, fought him, told him no, then we could have helped."

Dean stared, open mouthed around the room. Nothing moved, the people were frozen mid-motion. "What the hell? Who are you two? What are you?" Dean thought about pulling his gun, but then realized how useless it would probably be.

Jack chuckled. "It doesn't matter what we are." Jack nodded to Gabe.

Dean watched Gabe move to the boy who lay curled in a ball on the floor where Imkullu had dropped him.

Gabe carefully dipped his thumb into the small puddle of bloody tears on the leaf and then pressed it against the boy's lips as he whispered, "Dominus custodit te ab omni malo custodiat animam tuam Dominus. Dominus custodiat introitum tuum et exitum tuum ex hoc nunc et usque in saeculum."

Gabe went table to table, person to person, systematically anointing everyone the same way as he whispered the same blessing over each of them. Finally, he stood before Dean. He pressed his thumb once again into the leaf and then gently ran it over the right side of Dean's face as he spoke the Latin once again.

Dean felt a burning tingle flare over his face. When Gabe did the same to his hands he watched as every small cut closed without leaving a trace that they had ever been there. He reached up, fingered his cheek, and felt nothing but smooth skin, even the small scar that had been along his eyebrow from a nasty run in with a particularly strong poltergeist a few weeks back was gone.

Dean dropped his hand and cocked an eyebrow at the two, "Okay, so what's the deal with you two?" Dean crossed his hands over his chest and gave the two a questioning glare.

Gabe motioned for Dean to follow and moved out of the diner. The storm was gone, and the clear sky gave them a good view of the full moon.

Dean stepped out into the humid air and inhaled. The fresh scent of earth, water and ozone assaulted him almost as much as the humidity.

Jack brought up the rear, following them out by the old tree where Gabe already stood directly beneath the old oak.

Gabe motioned to the tree. "It's a shame you had to damage the old thing isn't it?"

Dean nodded thoughtfully, "It was the only thing I thought might work." Dean reached out, touched the rough bark of the old tree and was slightly shocked when he felt something. Startled, he pulled his hand back, a puzzled look on his face.

Jack smiled, "Powerful isn't it?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but what is it? I didn't feel it before."

Gabe held out his hand and Jack handed him the single green leaf that had collected Dean's tears and blood. "It's what you gave them back. Hope." Gabe laid the stem of the leaf against the jagged, broken stump where Dean had broken the branch.

Jack touched Dean's forehead and then covered Gabe's hand with his own, "All kinds of birds will find shelter under this tree and they will rest in the shade of its branches. Every tree in the forest will know that I, the LORD can bring down tall trees and make short ones grow. I dry up green trees and make dry ones green. I, the LORD, have spoken, and I will keep my word."

Again, warmth moved through Dean and a pleasant hum sang through the air. There was no wind, but the upper branches began to sway back and forth in an easy, measured rhythm.

Jack, hand still on the branch, threw his head back and stared up into the sky.

Gabe stepped from beneath the tree and held his hands straight out from his side. His own head fell back and with a look of pure joy on his face, he shouted into the sky, "You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands."

There was a loud sound of rolling thunder and sudden flash of lightning struck the top of the old oak.

Dean was too startled to move. He watched in amazement as a green glow began to flow down the tree from the top to the broken branch beneath Jack's hand.

Jack removed his hand and together with Dean and Gabe, they watched as the branch lengthened and thickened. Smaller, thinner branches shot from the main branch and then small green buds appeared. The buds unfurled, stretched and in moments, the jagged stump was gone and in its place was a thick, healthy leaf-bearing branch.

Dean blinked.

Jack and Gabe smiled.

There was a sudden blinding flash and Dean dropped to his knees, covering his eyes as night suddenly became as bright as day. A roaring, fluttering sound filled the air and it reminded Dean of being caught in the middle of a flock of birds. Then the light was gone, darkness returned and Dean found himself kneeling in the old burial ground, beneath an ancient, healed oak beside a run down diner in the middle of nowhere.

Dean threw his own head back and laughed.

_January, A Few Years Later…_

Dean's fingers pounded on the steering wheel, banging out the rhythm to Triumph's _Fight the Good Fight_ as he sang along with the chorus quietly, so not to disturb his brother's sleep. He glanced at Sam and smiled, he enjoyed having his brother hunting with him, though he wished they would find Dad.

Dean glanced at the clock, ten pm, he was tired and hungry and he knew Sam was hungry because he complained about it before finally falling asleep, his head bobbing on his neck before resting at an uncomfortable angle against the window. Dean wiped a hand over his face and sighed. They weren't stopping for the night until they reached Fayetteville. They couldn't afford to waste too much time, but they hadn't eaten since breakfast, well if you didn't count the Moon Pies and snickers bars, and the gnawing ache in his gut was demanding attention.

Dean nudged Sam's shoulder, "Hey."

Sam mumbled, but didn't really respond.

"Sammy, come on man, wake up."

Sam didn't move so Dean turned the volume all the way up and screamed along with Rik Emmett, "Every minute every day…Fight the good fight everybody…Make it worth the price we pay…Yeah…"

Sam jumped, slamming his head against the window, "Wha…" He glanced around the car, and then glared at his brother, who was laughing. Sam turned the radio off, "Damn it Dean, what the hell was that for?"

Dean laughed and leveled his smirk at Sam. "You wouldn't wake up." He caught Sam's face and laughed again, "You might wanna get that." Dean chuckled and rubbed a finger against his chin.

Sam reached up to his face and wiped away the string of drool as he glared back at his brother, "What?"

"Huh?"

"What did you need me awake for, jerk?" Sam rolled his eyes as he rubbed at his neck with his hand, trying to undo the kink.

"Food. You're hungry right?" Dean glanced at Sam, saw him nod, and then returned his eyes to the road. "There's a place coming up about a mile or two." Dean shot a wide smile at his brother, "Doesn't look like much, but they have great club sandwiches, perfect bacon and the best pie this side of the Mississippi."

"Yeah, figures you'd rate places based on fried pig and pie." Sam looked out the window. "How much longer till we're in Fayetteville?" He pulled out the map and glanced at the route marker. "Where the hell are we?" Sam looked from the map to Dean, "We aren't even on the right road. How'd you get us lost?" Sam spat, in full on pissed mode.

"Short cut, so chill. I know exactly where we are. Told you there's a diner coming up and…"

Sam cut him off, "Short cut? Dean we're almost ninety miles out of our way." Sam whined as he brushed his shaggy hair from his eyes as he held his flashlight over the map. "You were the one in the big hurry. 'Hurry up Sam, we gotta move…finish it now or wrap it up this poltergeist ain't gonna exorcise itself…'"

"Yeah, well it's just something you're gonna have to deal with. I haven't stopped by Gator's in a couple of years." Dean shot Sam a wide, toothy smile. "Beth'll wonder what happened to me." Dean winked.

"Figures there'd be a girl involved. Seriously Dean, we really don't have time for a booty call either." Sam saw the neon sign ahead and flipped the light off, "The food better be worth it and so help me Dean, if you think I'm sitting in the diner after we eat while you 'entertain' in the backseat, I'm going to shoot your ass full of rock salt."

Dean just smiled and pulled into the last spot at the end of the parking lot. The Impala's headlights shone on the old oak and four headstones. The old tree stood naked in the winter cold with the large, full moon behind outlining its skeletal limbs.

Sam was out of the car before Dean could cut the ignition. He heard the engine die, heard Dean's door open and close but when the beam of a flashlight started dancing toward him Sam, he glanced over his shoulder. "I thought we were here to eat?"

Dean shook his head, "In a minute, I wanna show you something." Dean walked into the small field; flashlight beam focused on the tree, and motioned for Sam to follow.

As they got closer, Sam noticed, "What the…" Sam's hand hovered over the branch.

Dean nodded, "It's like that every year; just that one branch, always green, always alive." Dean's tone was reverent and he reached out and touched the bark of the trunk. He shivered and sighed.

Sam watched his brother with curiosity. "How?"

Dean shrugged. "I never really found out…Jack and Gabe didn't give me a chance to ask. They just up and disappeared in a flash of light and loud fluttering noise."

"Jack and Gabe?"

Dean nodded, "Two biker dudes who hung out here, though they were something more than bikers."

"What aren't you telling me?" Sam touched one finger to the largest leaf on the branch and shuddered. "What the hell was that?" He dropped his hand to his side and backed from the tree, suddenly suspicious.

"Well, if you ask Jack and Gabe…it's hope, Sammy. Hope." Dean nudged Sam's arm, "Come on, I'll tell you the story over club sandwiches, coffee and Beth's pie."

The brothers moved to the diner. They never saw the two men leaning against the Impala in the parking lot. They missed the men smile; they missed the gentle spread of wings, the loud fluttering sound and they missed the hushed whisper of quiet voices that filled the air.

_The earth was shaking in the dark  
All creation felt the Father's Broken Heart  
Tears were filling Heaven's Eyes _

_When blood and water hit the ground  
Walls we couldn't move came crashing down  
We were free and made alive_

The End

_**Author's Note 1:**_

The Latin is Psalm 121: 7-8. The Lord shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul. The Lord shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.

Jack quotes Ezekiel 12:23-24. All kinds of birds will find shelter under this tree and they will rest in the shade of its branches. Every tree in the forest will know that I, the LORD can bring down tall trees and make short ones grow. I dry up green trees and make dry ones green. I, the LORD, have spoken, and I will keep my word.

Gabe quotes Isaiah 55:12. You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Lyrics at the end are from the Phil Wickham song called _True Love_.

_**Author's Note 2:  
**_

Okay, so this story was told six years ago after my best friend, Lacy, and her 10-year-old daughter, Marissa (my goddaughter), were in a devastating car accident. Marissa was badly burned and needed painful treatments/debridements/grafts... We made a deal. She'd do her best during the treatments and I'd tell her a story, anything she wanted. The original of this was the result.

It was a collaborative effort. She gave me prompts and I'd put it into the story, then we'd start the story at the beginning and tell it up through the new part. Then a new prompt and we'd start at the beginning and run through to the new part. Occasionally, the story would morph, because Marissa would remember something that we "forgot" to include the first time. It kept her busy, kept her spirits up and helped her heal.

Marissa just turned 16, and even though she now has an artificial leg, she is in gymnastics and she won her last dance competition. The girl is my hero 

The prompts:

A bad guy –Imkullu, the drunk driver

A good guy- Dean, the off duty cop who helped Lacy keep Marissa calm.

2 angels- Gabriel aka Gabe and Jachiel aka Jack

Bikers – two bikers pulled her from the car, risking their own lives

A "great big tree" – the oak tree, a drunk driver ran them into a stand of trees.

Cherry pie – because it's Marissa's favorite

Trees of the Field – A song based on Is. 55:12 that Marissa couldn't get out of her head after the accident

Hope – "Because Mommy needs something to hope for…"

There were a few more, but they didn't make it into this version, like I said 6 years ago is when the story was told, but I thought it would work as a SPN fic, so I adapted it.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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